Her Sweet Sailor

He was a handsome man, standing six feet, four inches, easily, but not quite making it to two-hundred pounds. In his early 40's, his strawberry-blond curls had thinned a little and had turned gray. His face was the color of adobe clay from spending years in the sun, fishing on the open sea. He loved the sea...both his father and grandfather had been men of the sea, so it could have been thier influence, although he didnt really care. All he wanted to do was to sail. Nothing else mattered to him.! He had sailed all over the world...fishing, sharking...selling his wares at any nearest port. But he made his home on a small island on the upper east coast of the United States called Amity. His love of sailing had taken him virtually all over the world, from Massachussetts, up the Atlantic ocean, up to the gulf of St. Lawrence to, at times, port in Nova Scotia (one of his favorite 'haunts'), then north, once again, through the Davis straight to dock in Baffin island, on Baffin bay. He would then sail on to the the Arctic ocean, where it was qiute cold most of the time but beautiful and would prt in various places in Canada. If his spirit were particular adventerous, he would then sail around to Alaska, then down the west coast to port in another of his favorite 'haunts'...San Francisco. From San Francisco, he would most likely sail south, down around the tip of south America to dock in such places as Fortaleza, Brazil, where he knew a pretty seniorita named Guadalupe. Then it would be north, again, up over the equator and back home, to Amity island. Sometimes, though, he would sail as far as the bay of Biscay and port in Carreno or Santander, Spain (he loved the Spanish ladies!). Or, sometimes, he would sail to Kilkee, Ireland, or around the mouth of Shannon to Kilrush, where his grandparents were from, but he never had really been any further than that. This particular summer, Quint decided that he was going to explore Europe more thoroughly than he had, before. He felt something strongly within him, drawing him toward this area of the world and he was quite intrigued as to what it might be. So, he had spent a great deal of time this past winter readying his boat, the "Orca", for the long (and risky) voyage across the Atlantic ocean. All throught the spring months he worked, having the boats hull gone over, checking for any and all existing or potential damage, having her engine gone over thoroughly and stocking her with supplies for the long, long trip. His sail date was scheduled for may 1st, when the waters would begin to turn warm and there would be less chance for storms. The sun would be bright and the waters calm and the stars plenty. Neither too warm nor too cold nor the wates too rough on the ocean he felt he must cross in order to satisfy the longing in his soul. Early morning, may 1st, finally arrived and, at three minutes past eight, eastern standard time, the Orca and her captain set sail...twenty degrees NNE across Nantucket Sound, out toward the Atlantic ocean, as he sang a song about "fair spanish ladies" at the top of his lungs. It was a very long trip...captain Michael J. Quint was on the open ocean for over two months before he saw land, again. He had continued his course at a north-east direction, just as he had when he was going to port in Ireland, except he knew that he would be going beyond...this time, to the United Kingdom, specifically Towyn, Wales. It took him two days, alone, to sail through the St. Georges Channel. Just for some reason, he felt that this was where he had to go, but this 'instinct' had told him wrong. Quint had spent two full days in Towyn and its surrounding areas, but he found nothing that satisfied that strange 'nagging' feeling, that feeling that he was 'missing' something, so the urgency of it drove him on. When he sailed from Towyn, he continued his northern course through the Irish sea, stoping at Douglas, on the Island of Man. Although he loved the scenery there, he still felt that same strong urgency nagging at him, urging him on further. He spent the night there, however, wondering just what it could be that he was searching for. He wracked his brain for hours before he finally gave up, too tired to think anymore. "I'm sure I'll know what it is I'm looking for when I find it", he mumbled to himself as he drifted off to sleep. The next morning, Quint decided to change his course, this time, sailing SSW, in the opposite direction of where he had been sailing. He sailed around the southern end of the Isle of Man, up through the North Channel and back out to the Atlantic. Three days later, he set port in a town called Durness, on the northern coast of Scotland. But he only spent the night there, after taking on fresh supplies -- and having an ale or two in a local pub. The next day, he sailed on to the Island of Orkney to dock in Birsay. Quint met some interesting fellows at a local pub he found in Birsay. He talked with them for hours, of the sea and of his quest, of fish and of women...drinking ale and laughing together as old men of the sea, do. Quint also met a woman there...her name was Cora. She was a lovely lass of twenty-three, with eyes as green as emeralds and her hair the color of a warm fire on a cold night. Her skin was a fine, pure porcelain color. Some would call it 'alabastar', but Quint chuckled every time he had heard this word in a description because it sounded too much like something his father used to say when he would get 'piped' (Quints word for pie-eyed drunk). His father would set and complain about "All those bastards" that he had to sail with. He always complained about his shipmates, for some reason. Anyway, when Quint would hear "alabastar", it reminded him of "All those bastards"...and thats exactly what it sounded like, too, when the senior Quint would say those words when he was 'piped'. Therefore, he could not, in good conscience, use that particular word when referring to such a beautiful woman. It was somehow blasphemous to him. But this milky white skin was as smoothe as anything Quint had touched before. Silky and soft and, when her hand brushed his as she served his tankard of ale. He wondered of she could be what he was searching for? Quint was not a man to believe in such things as premonitions or things like that, but this was simply a feeling that he just could not ignore. But, when Cora smiled, she radiated a warmth that lit a fire deep within his belly...and he wanted her. He just couldn't think of anything else, rational or otherwise. Two hours later, as the barkeep was closing the tavern, Michael Quint finally worked up the courage within himself to ask her if she would like to either go for a moonlight sail, out on the ocean to 'gaze at the stars' or, perhaps, a stroll along the shore. But his excitement was shattered when he observed a tall, much younger man walk in the door of the tavern in front of him, smile and call her name and she ran to this younger fellow and threw her arms about him and greeted him with a happy kiss. Quint, disheartened, left his money on the table and returned to his Orca. The following morning, Quint left Birsay and sailed NNE, once again, then east, then SSE, into the north sea. He sailed for well over a week, until he came upon Denmark. It was time to do some fishing. He needed money...his supplies were getting low. He docked his vessel in a small oceanfront town called Lokken, on the Skagerrak Bay. However, he found no market for his catches there, so he sailed until he came to Gothenburg, in Sweden. There, he found a rich market for dungeounous crabs. Quint was not a crab fisherman, actually...didnr have the right equipment for it. His nets needed a finer weave. But, if he needed the help, he knew that he could simply find the nearest pub, where fishermen went to drink. There was a common misconception about competition amongst fishermen that simply was not true, generally. Men of the sea are a tight group, alot like a family, of sorts...they share an extraordinary comeraderie toward each other was was unmatched in any other societal setting. So, when Quint asked for the help that he needed, just long enough to get the supplies he needed so that he could move on, he got plenty of it. He stayed on in Gothenburg for three days before setting sail once more. But, by this time, Quint was becoming more and more disheartened over this entire excursion. The drive to find something that he feels is waiting for him somewhere out there in the world was still there, still strong, but he was actually starting to feel quite silly about all of this. Oh, yes...this feeling was still pretty strong, alright, but he didnt have a specific place or idea where he should go or what he was going for. He only knew that there was something, somewhere, that he just had to find. *********************************************************************** In a very small seaport town in northern Germany called Wilhelshaven, a young girl with eyes the color of the sea and hair resembling spun gold, sat upon the steps of her grandmothers small cottage near the ocean, staring out over the north sea...as she had done every afternoon and evening since she'd had that first dream when she was only 9 years old...ten years ago. The dream was about her, Olivia Erding, walking in her grandmothers lovely garden-like front yard, the sun bright and warm and the wind was sweet and fresh, smelling of the many roses her grandmother had planted there. Olivia was an adult, as she was this day, wearing a long and lovely white lace dress, a delicate satin ribbon tied into her hair, pulling it back from her small, round face. In this dream, she would stand in front of the little wooden, picketed gate, watching out over the sea for what seemed to be many days, never once leaving the gate, until one day, when she see's a boat coming toward her, over the horizon, on the sea. Very, very tiny, at first, then, as it draws nearer, it gets larger and larger...until it gets a couple of miles from shore and she can make out the shape of a man, waving frantically to her. She waves back at him, but, for some unknown reason, she is terribly excited to see him! Her heart is racing and she feels 'giddy' and out of breath...as if she would faint. The feelings intensify as he docks and leaves the boat and begins to walk up in the pier, across the road, to her grandmothers house. But this is always where the dream ends. And the only thing that she can ever remember about her dream sailor are his beautiful blue, blue eyes and his wide, mischevious grin, setting beneath a tickly-looking moustache. She'd had this same dream, many, many times this past ten years. Once, she had told her grandmother about these dreams and her grandmother had told her these were a 'sigh...an 'omen'...that something was telling her that her true love would be a sailor who would come off of the sea to carry her away to far-off lands with him and make her happy for the rest of her life. However, that was when Olivia was only 9 years old. A child. To her grandmother, it was only a story, a way of soothing her granddaughters anxieties. But, to Olivia, it was real. These days, her grandmother had beem wishing that she had never told that little 'story' to her granddaughter, because she was becoming more and more concerned with her granddaughters welfare...Olivia had no friends to speak of, no social life, whatsoever. All she ever did was just set on that porch every afternoon, after work, until the sun went down for the day...her chin in her hands, wearing a white lace dress with a delicate satin ribbon in her hair, staring out over the sea. She'd done this almost every day for almost ten years, waiting for some 'phantom sailor' to come in and sweep her away, like a wave washing up over the sand and pulling a lovely little starfish back in, with it. But Olivia was a woman, now, so there wasn't much her grandmother could do about it, except try to talk to her about it on occasion...which never did any good, anyway. Olivia would only listen to her out of politeness. Not one word ever sank in. For Olivia knew, in her heart, that her sweet sailor would come, some day. She didnt know when, but she knew he would come for her. One thing her grandmother didnt know of was that, every evening, after the sun went down (when she quit watching the sea for the day), that she would walk down to the local market, buy a cold drink, drink it, then insert a little note to her sailor, saying the same thing she would always say (a ritual she had been practicing since she saw it on a tv movie when she was only 13), a poem that she had once written inside the cover of one of the many diaries she'd had over the years: "As you sail upon the sea, you have, with you, a part of me... not my wings, or halo of gold, but all my heart, and all my soul". Olivia Erding (the date) She had done this everynight for over six years, now...and she hadn't heard, as of yet, from anyone, yet she never became discouraged. As she sat on the stoop this night, she had her chin in her hands, thinking of her sailor, wondering what his name might be, where he might be from, how old he might be...and he might be doing at this particular moment in time... *********************************************************************** Quint had set sail from Gothenburg early the morning of the fourth day, sailing NNW, back around the northern tip of Denmark, back toward the north sea. He wondered, briefly, why he was so drawn to the north sea, but he dismissed it with the fact that it merely connected to so many places. He had originally intended to sail north, to the Atlantic, to port in Alesund, Norway, but once he had sailed back through the Skagerrak straight into the north sea, he instead decided to go south...it was those ugly storm clouds that he noticed forming in the north-west skies that had changed his mind. As he sailed south, he stopped the boat long enough to go down to the cabin to check his maps, to choose a place in the south that would be interesting to see while waiting for the storm to pass. His eye ran across Wilhelmshaven, Germany, a place he had heard about when he was a boy. He also remembered that Wilhelmshaven had been an active port during the first world war and wondered about what sort of nautical history he could find there. Therefore, now curious, this was where Quint decided to port to ride out the oncoming storm. *********************************************************************** Olivia had woke this morning with a terrible headache, a sign that she knew a bad storm was brewing. A teacher had once told her that her body must be "sensitive to the electrical ions in the storm clouds". She was supposed to go into town to do some marketing for her grandmother and take a couple of her grandmothers homemade quilts to be sold there, then on to her job at the local beauty salon where she would sweep up and put out fresh towels on a part time basis. But, this day, her grandmother vehemently insisted she stay home so that she wouldn't be caught in such a violent storm. Her many years on this earth and having always lived this close to the ocean, she knew as well - or better than - Olivia how severe a storm could be just by looking at the color of the clouds and the sky. Olivia balked...those clouds were too far off, yet, to give off any real concern, she thought. So she felt she had plenty of time to grab a few things at the market and drop off thos quilts, then stop into the beauty salon to ask for the day off, just for safety's sake. But on her way toward the beauty salon, she noticed that those storm clouds were now much closer than they had been on her way inside the market. Much closer. She suddenly realized that, perhaps, she should have listened to her grandmother, today. This stoprm was a quick one. Those clouds were coming in faster than she thought they would. They were moving in more swiftly than she'd ever seen. Olivia met Stella, her boss, coming quickly out of the door of the beauty salon, locking the door behind her. "Is there no work today, Stella?", Olivia asked. "My, no, child!", Stella told her in a worrisome tone, "...Can you not see that bad storm coming in?!...There'll be no customers today, I'm afraid! Now run home and be safe!". Olivia turned and hurried home. *********************************************************************** Quint was just past Nord Friesische Island, now and the storm was gaining quickly on him. He was starting to get a bit worried now that he was going to get caught in the middle of it...and this looked like a storm that wasn't going to blow over anything closely resembling 'easy'! He knew this could be dangerous, so as he stood there, on the Orca's bridge, guiding her through unfamiliar waters that were already swelling in anticipation of the oncoming storm, he pushed her accelerator lever to full throttle, forcing his vessel to go as fast as she could toward thier destination. *********************************************************************** Olivia was putting away the groceries when she happened to glance out the kitchen window and noticed raindrops beginning to fall against the window pane. The storm was here...and she hadn'e yet removed thier laundry from the clothesline out back, yet! Her grandmother had already went to bed to bundle up for the night. She would go to bed and bundle herself heavily in quilts and blankets, then light the kerosene lamp and take out her favorite books to read during the storm, to keep her mind off of the heavy rain and thunder and lightening that she feared so much. Meanwhile, Olivia hurriedly finished with the groceries before running out back to remove the hanging laundry. *********************************************************************** Quint felt the first drops of rain hit his cheek and fought the impending panic. He was just only past the tiny island of Helgoland, with, at least, forty miles to shore. The Orca was already going top speed and her engines were straining. He could smell burned oil in her exhaust. She couldnt go any faster than she was. Her throttle was open full bore. The sky was growing darker and the sea was getting restless. Wet and worried, the only thing he could do was to just keep his course and speed --- and hope for the best. *********************************************************************** Olivia checked in on her grandmother after she had sat the basket of wet laundry inside on the service porch. It was quite dark outside, now, for only ten past five in the afternoon. Her grandmothers kerosene lamp cast an eerie glow throughout her room, so unlike the nice, bright sun or electric lights of usual. Though the electricity was still on, for now, Olivia had been through enough storms to know it wouldnt last long. So, on her way to the kitchen to fetch the cup of hot cocoa that her grandmother had requested, she went into the utility closet to get a lamp for herself. She carried it with her to the kitchen, just in case. But no sooner had she walked into the kitchen, a bright bolt of lightening came crashing down and the entire house went dark. "Good timing...", Olivia whispered to herself, referring to her early decision to get herself a lamp. It was dark enough inside the house to actually require a lamp, now. She fumbled around in the dark gray kitchen toward the stove to find the matches to light the lamp. She sat the lamp on the window sill of the kitchen window. The light reflecting on the glass would give the room more illumination as she set about making her grandmothers cocoa. *********************************************************************** It was so dark, now, that Quint could no longer see where he was going without light. He had to stop the Orca to go below to get his flashlight so that he would be able to read the compass up on the instrument panel. He moved quickly. He didnt want to waste a second of the precious time he had left before the storm would be upon him. It was almost right atop him, as it was. He made his way back above deck quickly, hanging on all the way to anything he could grasp. The deck was wet and slippery and the waves tossed the Orca from port to starboard. It was a struggle simply for Quint to return to the bridge...something he'd done more than a thousand times, before. The bright light from the flashlight guided him to the wheel, then he started the engine and thrust the accelerator lever forward, on his way once more. He steered with his right hand as he steadied the flashlight on the compass dial with his left. It was now a battle to just keep himself steady as the Orca was tossed around on the angry waters like a jugglers ball. Suddenly, Quint noticed a small twinkle of light in the distance. Unsure if it was actually a light or just a reflection of somekind, Quint clicked off the Orca's spotlight for a minute. Sure enough, it was a light, in the distance. Faint and flickering and quite far off, but, definately, a light. *********************************************************************** Olivia made a cup of hot cocoa for her grandmother, then took it to her. Instead of carrying the heavy kerosene lamp in one hand and a cup of piping hot cocoa in the other and taking the risk of scalding herself, she took a candle from the kitchen drawer to light her way to her grandmothers room. Then she returned to the kitchen to drink her own cup of cocoa. In the distance, she could hear the faint sound of what seemed to be a brass ships bell, but paid no attention. In this wind, that sound could come from a number of sources. *********************************************************************** As Quint grew closer to shore, the light got brighter. He was close enough, now, to distinguish the source of light as a lamp in a window...the only light in the entire harbor. He sailed straight for it. *********************************************************************** Olivia was startled by a frantic pounding on her front door. Unsuredly, she slowly walked into the livingroom, toward the door. "Who is it?", she called out. "My name is Michael Quint, miss!", the strong male voice called back, "...I sailed into port, trying to beat the storm, but got caught in it, instead...I saw your light and didn't know where else to go...it's the only light in port!". The voice was urgent as it called in to her from the other side, muffled by the thickness of the door and the howling wind and rain. "This is a private home, sir!", she called back, ignoring her grandmothers voice coming at her from around the corner, from her room, asking urgently who was at the door. "...We dont take in strangers, here!", Olivia continued, "...I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someplace else to go!". "Please, miss!", the voice cried back, pleading, "the entire town is dark and I've never been here before...I dont know my way around...I'm harmless, I assure you!". Olivia thought it over. She stepped around the corner, into her grandmothers room. "Grandma, its some man...", Olivia whispered, "he says he docked in the harbor trying to beat the storm and he doesnt know his way around...he came here because of the lamp I had in the window...it was the only light he could see burning in all the harbor...what should I do?". "Let him inside!", her grandmother snapped, "...For goodness sakes, child!...We cannot leave another human being outside on a night like this!...I am proud of your caution, but we are just going to have to take our chances with him. If he turns out to be a danger, then at least we'll know that we did the right thing and offered our hands in friendship and the good Lord will take kindly to us!". After a moments pause, Olivia went to the door and opened it, slowly. Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, was Michael Quint...a boyish grin on his face. "Come in, Mr. Quint...", Olivia offered, "...go into the kitchen, there...", she gestured toward that room, "I'll get you a blanket and fetch you a cup of hot cocoa...I just made some, fresh...". He thanked her as he walked toward the kitchen, smiling sheepishly, shivering from the wet cold. Olivia went and retrieved a heavy quilt from the chest in her grandmothers room. Her grandmother asked about the man and Olivia replied, "He seems pleasant enough...". The grandmother asked if she still felt nervous or afraid. Strangely, Olivia said "no", that this man seemed quite harmless and, oddly, she didnt feel the slightest worry. Grandmother smiled and sighed, then settled into her bed and told Olivia she was tired and was going to nap, before assuring her that she was going to be alright. As Olivia started out the door, granmother called back tiredly to extend her apologies to thier guest, to let him know that she would be up and around in awhile and she would meet him, then. Olivia said 'alright', then carried the heavy quilt into the kitchen and laid it across Quint's broad shoulders, then went over to the stove, which was still burning, for heat and replaced the pan with the cooling cocoa, to heat the remaining liquid once again. "Its a good thing you had your lamp burning in the window, miss...", he commented, "...or I may very well have been lost at sea!". It suddenly struck Olivia that, maybe...just maybe, this could be her 'sweet sailor'! Only, in her dreams, it had been a bright, sunny day, yet...could the brightness of the lamp been misinterpreted as the sunshine? And, in her dreams, it had been she who had been standing at the gate, waiting for him...yet, tonight, it had been he who had been standing at her door, waiting for her...could this be? Details were different, but the basic idea was the same...could this actually be? "I'm glad I could be of some help...", Olivia told him, her back to him, her mind still in deep thought, "..I'm sorry I was so cautious before letting you in...I didnt mean to make you wait out in the cold, but its only myself and my grandmother who live here and we must be wary of strangers...". "I certainly understand, miss...", Quint smiled, "...excuse me, but, I dont know what to call you...you havent yet introduced yourself to me". "My name is Olivia", she smiled, bringing his cup of steaming cocoa to him. "Olivia...?!", Quint exclaimed, grinning madly, "Well, what a coinsidence!", he chuckled. "What do you mean?", she asked curiously, setting down at the table across from him. "Oh", he grinned madly, blowing on his cocoa to cool it down, "...For years I've been running across these bloody pop bottles, floatin' around in the water, getting caught in my nets, having them fall out of the sharks I cut open...", his New England accent thick, "...they've been drivin' me balmy!...And they always had this same little message inside, from a girl named Olivia...", he chuckled, cutting her a glance, his blue eyes sparkling with mishief. "What did the messages say?", she asked, already knowing, in her heart, the answer. "Oh, its a sweet little poem", he reminisced, smiling, "Lets see, now...how does it go...oh, yes...something like, 'As you sail upon the sea, you have with you a part of me'....something like that", he chuckled, smiling brightly at her, "...I forget the rest". Yes. He was the one. Olivia smiled, satisfied. It all fit, now. She finished, "...Not my wings, or halo of gold, but all my heart and all my soul....". His eyes grew large and his smile faltered as he stared at her in disbelief. "Youre THE Olivia!", he excalimed. She smiled pleasantly as she sipped her own cocoa, not taking her eyes from his. She didnt confirm it, right away. Instead, she began telling him about her dreams, of her sailor and how she went about putting those bottles in the water...and how she would wait, every evening, for her sailor to come into port for her. He watched her eyes as she spoke, the full curve of her lips, the softness in her voice, the deepness of her green eyes, the way lamplight reflected on her golden hair creating a golden halo...and he finally knew that he found what he has been searching for. He slowly reached across the table and took her hand gently into his and gazed deeply into her adoring eyes. That feeling of urgency in himself finally satisfied. He knew he would have to look no longer. He squeezed her hand, gently. His blue eyes twinkling brightly, his smile sweet and patient, he said soflty to her, "I've been searching the world for you, m'lady...I'm so happy to have finally found you...". Then he leaned over the table and kissed her trembling lips, sweetly. Olivia had finally found her sweet sailor. *****************************THE END********************************** PS: Thanks to "JawsKat" for keeping this copy safe! This story was originally written January 7th, 1999